And Out Come the Wolves
by MollyMayhem84
Summary: This is a cowritten piece by me and SaidwhatIMeant. Set between season 3 and season 4... Daryl runs into a survivor while out on a run. M for language and eventual smut courtesy of SaidWhatIMeant
1. Prologue

To say you're having a bad day in a world full of walking corpses who would like nothing more than to make a meal out of your intestines was a bold statement. For Katie Horwood, this was an exceptionally shitty day in an exceptionally shitty world.

Her eyes narrowed as she peered down the barrel of her military issued Beretta M9, feeling significantly outgunned, as her target trained his Stryker Strykezone 380 crossbow back at her. She had scavenged the 9mm pistol from the body of a former US Marine, after having to put him permanently to rest. It was lightweight and small, and didn't slow her down to carry it. Of course, she had learned long ago that noise attracted the shufflers, and she went for it on an as-needed basis.

Ol' sleeveless here with the crossbow poking through her shit definitely warranted the pistol's presence. She scolded herself for being surprised at the man's presence. If she had learned anything in her pathetic 28 years of life, it was that just when things started to look up for her, it usually came crashing down on her head- like how pigeons always managed to shit on only freshly washed and waxed vehicles. The really cruel motherfuckers sought out unsuspecting brides at their outdoor weddings.

The muscles in her shoulders began to twitch and she relaxed her grip. If it came down to it, she would shoot this asshole down, and she didn't want to hurt herself in the process.

"You best turnaround now, before my group catches wind of you," Katie lied.

"How many you got?" the man asked, not sounding at all convinced.

"Enough," she replied, keeping her voice even. She saw the man's lip curl in a slight smirk from behind his crossbow and she knew he didn't buy it.

His next words confirmed her fear.

"You ain't got shit," the man challenged. "So, sweetheart, you gonna lower that gun, or what?"


	2. Chapter 1

_**AN: so just to remind you this is a piece me and FirstTheColors (previously SaidWhatIMeant) have been working on years ago. Figure I'll post what we have and see where it goes.**_

 **One Day Earlier, somewhere in Georgia:-**

Katie found herself migrating to larger and larger towns as the days passed. The small hamlets and parishes were tapped out and she found herself with little choice but to break her cardinal rule of sticking to low population areas. She supposed it didn't matter anymore. The shufflers had long ventured out from the cities and towns for the same reasons she entered them: in search of food.

She scowled at the Ford Focus' dashboard at the low fuel light as it gave her a warning chime. She was pushing her luck, running on fumes for as long as she had been. Dried blood and guts on the windshield marred her vision. She had run into a small herd the last time she had attempted to stop to try and siphon gas from a couple of cars.

Thankfully those fuckers weren't "fresh", and the decay process had weakened them considerably. After plunging her knife into the first shuffler's head, Katie was reminded of the time when she was 5 and her father had brought home a spoiled watermelon from the market by mistake. The large fruit had begun making an odd gurgling sound and had damn near exploded when her father had pierced the rind with his knife, leaving a pile of pink goo trickling down the countertops.

Of course, the stench of rotting watermelon was like Chanel No. 5 in comparison to rotting human brains.

Katie slowed the small car and put it in park. There were a couple of deserted cars around and even if she only got a gallon of fuel, it was still a gallon more than what she had.

She could hold her own pretty well when faced with a couple of shufflers at a time. It was once their numbers hit over three when things got hairy. It always seemed there was that one really feisty fucker in any small group - just like every class in high school had that one kid who'd always challenge the teachers, whether out of boredom, or not getting hugged enough when they were small.

Of course, in Katie's case, she had been that kid. She never really gave much thought to her motives behind it, other than pure indifference to the crap they were teaching. In her 10 years of post-high school life, she couldn't recall a single time that she used calculus or Shakespeare in her everyday life.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow, asshole," she muttered, as she yanked the blade out of the first geek's skull. Well, there was a first time for everything.

Katie yanked her arm away as she felt a gnarled hand grasp the sleeve of her t-shirt. She turned and used her military issued combat boot to shove her attacker backward, sinking her foot ankle deep in the thing's rotted abdomen.

That was new.

Katie swallowed back the bile that crept up in her throat and reached for the door handle of the old SUV she was siphoning gas from. The door didn't yield. She swore loudly as she saw a half dozen more shufflers limping over to her. _Jesus...where did they come from?_ she wondered, feeling the panic fluttering in her chest. _And who the hell locks their fucking doors in the middle of the apocalypse?_

She dodged the outstretched fingers of the gaping stomach-wound shuffler and tried to scramble on top of the station wagon, hoping getting to the roof would buy her a little time to think of a way out of this clusterfuck. Of course, shit never panned out like she planned it in her head. Her guts-covered shoe slipped off the front bumper of the vehicle and she face-planted into the windshield. She felt her nose crack and warm, thick blood pouring from her nostrils, over her lips and down her chin.

Katie scrambled to get her legs underneath her again while slashing at the moaning forms clawing at her. She hopped to the roof of the large vehicle, landing hard on her right knee. Her fingertips squealed against the aluminum surface as she tried to grip anything to help pull herself up. She gritted her teeth and using her core muscles, managing to swing the momentum of her body weight forward so she was safely perched on the highest point of the SUV.

She wiped away the blood from her nose with the back of her arm and surveyed the small mob of corpses pawing pathetically at the top of the SUV, trying to grab at her ankles. She stomped down hard on a grey, mottled hand that grazed the back of her jean covered calf, feeling the bones crack underneath her boot.

She had to think of something fast; she could see more shufflers hobbling toward her off in the distance.


End file.
